Sunday, February 15, 2015

Pedaling across America: June 2007

THIS IS THE STORY of my first
bicycle trip across the United States in 2007. It was originally posted on a
blog called http://viall4diabetes.blogspot.com/. I thought anyone interested in
doing this kind of trip might prefer reading my story in a more compact configuration
rather than clicking on fifty different blog posts.

Here, then, is the story of my great
adventure, a solo ride across the continent when I was 58 years old.

FOR POSTS RELATED TO MY SECOND RIDE, IN 2011, SEE THE BLOG ARCHIVE FOR THAT YEAR, AT RIGHT.

***

Emily(originally posted: June 14,
2007)

In just a few days I begin my
trip across the United States to raise money for diabetes research.

Emily, 17, our youngest daughter, was diagnosed as a type-1 diabetic in March,
2005—one of the darkest times our family has ever faced.

Still, we consider ourselves “lucky.” Emily had been healthy all throughout her
childhood; and we could feel for those whose children were diagnosed at an earlier
age. Emily was old enough to give herself her own shots...old enough to
understand what risks were involved ...but not so old she wasn’t scared.

We have been lucky since, too. Our daughter has never once let a complaint slip
between her lips. She knew from the start that being diabetic would change her
life and might change her future. So she set her mind on making the best of a
bad situation. I will have more to say about her in future postings. For now I
can only tell you that her mother and I are very proud.

(This is still true, almost
eight years later.)

Here are the basics of my plan. I have a family reunion in New Jersey the
weekend of June 15-17. The next day my brother will drop me off along the
coast. Bicycling tradition says you should dip your back wheel in the ocean
where you start—and dip your front wheel in the ocean where you finish. I
expect to complete my trip to Oregon in roughly two months.

Loveland community support has been tremendous. I have raised a little more
than $10,000 for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.

(I was then teaching at Loveland
Middle School in Loveland, Ohio. Students, staff and parents helped me raise
funds for the cause.)

A

Emily, 17, a type-1 diabetic, in 2007. We love her dearly.

Emily, left, ready to party at Ohio State.She's now a diabetic nurse counselor in Washington, D. C.

Stress
Test(June
14, 2007)

My wife is a worrier. So I can’t
just get on my bicycle and ride. Today I have to take a stress test. I teach
middle school. I know I have stress.

Part of it comes down to age: I’m 58. My weight isn’t too good, either: 190 on
a bad day. Eating habits are an abomination. Twix bars for breakfast, four cookies
for lunch. Bad cholesterol is an issue, too.

So maybe a stress test isn’t a bad idea.

I plan to ride my bicycle over from Glendale to Jewish Hospital in Kenwood in a
few minutes, about twelve miles. I do find, without exception, that when I
exercise my stress abates.

I recommend that middle school teachers exercise regularly.

Only 4,000 Miles to Go (June
20, 2007)

I'm sitting here in a Virginia
library, sweating nicely, on my third day of riding.

So far my trip is about what I expected. That is: a relatively in-shape person
of advanced age will suffer to get into shape.

My brother Ned dropped me off around noon on June 18 on the Jersey shore and I
dipped my back tire in the Atlantic as required by tradition. Two months later
I hope to dip my front tire in the Pacific. A pretty young lifeguard inquired
where I was going. I replied, “Oregon,” with a smile. She returned my smile and
wished me luck. I suspect she took one look at my physique and thought, “No
chance in the world!”

(I began my ride twenty-five
pound overweight and twenty-five years past my prime; but my background in the
Marine Corps helped me believe I could still do it.)

Fat and old: but still ready to go.I carry all my own gear when I ride.

Heading south with a good following wind I made 72 miles down the coast. As
expected there were no hills, though heat was a factor. I crossed Delaware Bay
on a ferry (another 15 miles) and rode through the Eastern Shore to Salisbury,
Maryland.

Everyone I talk to has been nice, especially when I tell them I’m riding to
raise money for juvenile diabetes research. At a fruit stand in Delaware the
owner brought me her special chair and set it down in the shade so I could
rest. At 6:00 p.m. I stopped in Millsboro, Delaware at a restaurant serving
breakfast all day. When I told the hostess I hoped to ride to Oregon and was
raising money for diabetes she shook my hand. Then she called two waitresses
over to tell them about what I was doing. After polishing off a pile of
pancakes I logged twenty-seven more miles and found a hotel before dark in
Salisbury, Maryland.

The second day was uneventful, but roasting hot. I felt like I was riding in a
sauna. For those interested in a beach home I can say that reports in the
Eastern Shore papers indicate the region is booming. You heard it here first.

I also read in USA Today that 12% of all health spending in
the country goes to diabetic care: $80 billion dollars out of $645 billion. I
hope JDRF can help find a cure soon.

(That total would also include
care for the much more prevalent type-2 diabetes; the difference is that with
good diet and exercise, you can rid yourself of type-2 diabetes. Type-1 is, at
least for now, a lifetime burden.)

At any rate, I can also reveal another travel tip to those planning to visit
the Eastern Shore. DO NOT plan to use the ferry which crosses the Chesapeake
Bay from Crisfield, Maryland to Reedville, Virginia. AAA maps indicate it will
work; but the ferry carries passengers only and runs once a day. Unfortunately,
I missed the trip on the 19th and ground to a stop after only 49 miles.

Today I finally managed to cross over to Tangier Island at 12:30. There you
catch a second boat at 2:00 to finish the passage to Virginia. It was a
picturesque island and I talked to several interesting locals, as well as a
young man who had just finished boot camp at Parris Island.

I will say more about that; but I want to get riding. It’s 7:30 in the evening
and I have ten miles to go to the nearest campground.

Slow Progress and Suffering (June
27, 2007)

I suppose my wife was right. She
warned me riding cross country at my age was a stupid idea. But like many
husbands before me and many more to come, I ignored my wife’s advice. Now I’m
paying the price in sweat and suffering. The first week of my trip has been
harder than expected and I have covered only 460 miles.

Hopefully, I’ll be in good enough shape soon to make this work. Yesterday, June
25 (my daughter Sarah’s twentieth birthday) I managed 82 miles, about what I hope
to average.

Most nights, so far, I have run out of light before I can find a camping spot.
So I’ve stayed in motels. I can offer one good travel tip: if in Fredericksburg,
Virginia NEVER pay for a room at the Twi-Lite Motel (it may fall down before
you have a chance anyway).

The first hint is the NO REFUNDS sign at the front desk. But it was growing
dark the day I arrived and I had been pedaling on busy roads for hours. I took
a look at a room, swallowed hard, and paid anyway.

Sometimes something bad rises to the level of an “experience” and such was the
case on this night. My fine room had three lights. Two had no on/off switches
and one had no bulb. The dresser was American Goodwill; but some previous guest
had checked out and taken all the drawers with him. The ceiling tiles in the
bathroom sagged with age and the towel must have been included in the linens on
Noah’s Ark. Ah...the cable worked…even if the remote didn’t.

Another night I ran out of time to find a place and found myself deep in the
countryside. So I raised my tent in a graveyard, butting up against a large
wooded area. Around 2:00 am I heard a bobcat howling nearby. I hunkered down
deeper in my sleeping bag and checked to see my pepper spray was near at hand.

I’ve been chased by dogs several times, so I reach for the spray (attached to
the handle bar) when I think I might not be able to make my getaway. At this
point, I’ve pedaled away from trouble every time; but I think some dog will get
it in the end.

Actually, the dogs are ahead 1-0. I was on some back road when a dog came
snarling across his yard, headed my way. I was coming up a hill, head down, and
had time only to look to see where he was. Then I realized he was stopped by a
fence—and looked up just in time to see I was headed for a ditch. I managed to
stand my bike on its nose and fall gracefully into the middle of the road.

My best camping experience has been at the Small Country Campground near Troy,
Virginia. The Small family has owned the place since 1971 and can accommodate
hundreds of campers on any given night. I talked to the owners and it turns out
they have a daughter with diabetes. She was diagnosed at 11 and is now 17 and a
high school senior to be, as is Emily Viall. Miss Small, however, is interested
in massage therapy and not likely to go to college.

Her mother worries what will happen when she hits 18 and can’t be covered on
the family insurance policy.

I spent one morning at the birthplace of Robert E. Lee, an impressive southern
mansion, built starting in 1748. Lee spent only three years there, -partly
because his father fell on hard times, financially. A museum attached had many
interesting items, including some of Lee’s personal letters. I noticed in 1834,
when he was 25, that he wrote to one of his cousins to describe women in the
Fortress Monroe area as “the most beautiful creatures” the Lord ever created,
enough to “make the mouth water and the fingers tingle.” I like details which
reveal the human side of history.

The next day I visited the battlefield and museum at Chancellorsville. It was
here that Lee won his greatest victory, pulverizing a Union army twice the size
of his own. The National Park Service places dozens of pictures of young men
and women who were tied to the fighting on the walls. I was struck by one:
Samuel Sager, who joined the 96th Pennsylvania Infantry in March,
1864. Less than two months later he was killed at the Battle of Spotsylvania
(also covered in the museum), when he was sixteen. A Louisiana soldier was shot
in the face and blinded but returned home to marry his sweetheart, had seven
children (all daughters), and managed to live to 76.

The day after that I pedaled up the mountain to Monticello, the home of Thomas
Jefferson. If you have never been there you should make the trip. The place is
an architectural masterpiece, filled with interesting features to make life
easy, easy for Mr. Thomas Jefferson, that is.

Much as I admire the man, and much as I love the ideals laid down in the
Declaration of Independence, I wonder how he missed the obvious. Jefferson was
a genius, our most brilliant president ever (and I include the present occupant
of the White House), but on the question of slavery he was obtuse.

He loved books and had a library of thousands. He loved fine wines and imported
hundreds of bottles yearly. He surrounded himself with fine paintings and
busts, one of Voltaire. Yet he never put the ideals in the Declaration into
action when it came to his own slaves. Couldn’t he have sacrificed some wine—some
books—some paintings—and set some slaves free?

George Washington, a less brilliant man, but a man of far greater character,
freed every one of his slaves, 388 in all, in his will. Jefferson freed five
when he died, some of whom were probably his own children. (Jefferson, in all
likelihood, had had a long-time love affair with one of his mixed-race slaves,
Sally Hemmings.)

In any case, if a brilliant man like Jefferson can miss the obvious, I suppose
we all must admit we can too.

As I strolled through the gardens I noticed a striking black woman, very dark,
perhaps born in Africa, but figured it would be rude to ask. She was standing
beside a young white man, clearly her boyfriend. As I passed, he leaned in to
kiss her and I heard the sound of lips on lips. I couldn’t help but think: this
was a state that lost a legal battle in 1967, the year I graduated from high
school, at the U. S. Supreme Court level in an effort to uphold its laws
against interracial marriage.

I have noticed several interracial couples in Maryland and Virginia, once
strictly taboo. I have also noticed how many Hispanics there are and stores and
businesses catering to them. America continues to change, as it always has.
Three motels where I’ve stayed were run by families from India, who I think are
willing to put in long hours to keep small motels alive. I think our nation can
absorb them all and come out stronger in the end, as millions of Irish were
absorbed after 1846, including my ancestors.

As for riding: in the mornings riding cross country seems like a good idea. By
afternoon I am sunburned, caked in salt-sweat, with lips cracked and leg and
shoulder muscles aching.

The hardest miles, so far, have been a steep three-mile ascent at Rockfish Gap,
leading into the Shenandoah Valley, then a five-mile uphill push this morning
just west of Salem, Virginia.

As I type, I am sitting in the library at Pulaski, Virginia. I have covered
fifty miles so far today and the next twenty take me into forested country and
over two big mountains. I am procrastinating...should I push it this evening or
should I take the wimp’s route and quit early and find a motel?

REMEMBER: I AM STILL TAKING DONATIONS FOR JDRF. SENDCHECKS, MADE OUT TO JDRF,
TO: